


ready or not • dreamnotfound -ABANDONED FIC-

by facadecake



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Angst and Romance, Domestic Fluff, Enemies, Enemies to Friends, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Heavy Angst, Light Angst, M/M, Minecraft, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, RPF, Realistic Minecraft, dreamnotfound, realistic manhunt, yes there is something off........ c'est part of the lore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-07
Updated: 2020-11-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:06:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27430204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/facadecake/pseuds/facadecake
Summary: THIS FIC IS ABANDONED AND WILL NO LONGER BE UPDATED!!!!!!!!Minecraft Manhunt. Dream vs. George, Badboyhalo, and Sapnap. It is up to them to see if they can remember what they were before a dumb game of Manhunt took over their lives. Maybe there's love, maybe theres betrayal- that's up to you to find out dudeTEEN for blood, languageRESPECT CONTENT CREATORS AND DO NOT WRITE NSFW OF THEM. IF THEY ARE UNCOMFORTABLE WITH THIS I WILL DELETE ITi will try to update on weekends.
Relationships: Clay | Dream & Darryl Noveschosch, Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound & Darryl Noveschosch & Sapnap, Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 62





	1. Chapter 1

"The world is made up of two classes - the hunters and the huntees." 

-RC

-

It is a weird feeling. 

Dream lies on the ground. He stares at a strong blue sky. A few cumulonimbus clouds hang high, high up. Dream wonders how soft they are, and if they would shy away if he were to touch them. It's a strange sort of peace that he feels in his chest now. The clouds are brushed with grey though, and Dream can't help but to feel a storm approaching in his bones.

Then, he hears a rustle next to him, and for the first time, he looks somewhere aside from up. He sits up and scans his eyes across the horizon. Wherever he is looks like an infinite stretch of field, void of humanity- except for three other people also interestingly enough lying in the grass.

They look familiar to Dream. But not too familiar- there's a cognizable animalistic twitch in their body as they sit up and look around. Something evil, Dream notices when their eyes find him. But something not too not familiar when their gazes soften briefly. A hint of a memory, a touch of nostalgia, a dash of unreplicable friendliness. A square of people, a mutual sense of confusion. 

Of course, any domesticities are defenestrated when they stand up and almost robotically begin attacking him. It seems impulsive on the attackers side. Dream is in a spur of confusion. He dodges a particularly hard attack from one of the men- he has a white headband- and stands to his feet uneasily. He is prey to predators he's never known of. Or maybe he has. The familiarity is a swarm of gnats to him- each gentle look, each hesitant strike at him, each shy sprint at him- they all buzz around his thoughts as though he were missing something. 

It is a weird feeling. But Dream forces himself to adjust rather quickly. 

Reluctantly, he strikes back with his fist. He isn't a violent person as far as his memory serves. Of course, his memory doesn't seem terribly reliable at the moment. He keeps attacking these strange people with a sense of perfidy aching his heart any time one of them yelps at a particularly harsh hit. Dream was dropped into this strange place with no explanations, no reasons, no knowledge. The only thing he has is himself and a reluctance about his own self preservation for the sake of concern for what are strangers to him.

Dream runs. He doesn't realize His feet restlessly tear through the bed of leaves the forest so kindly offers to him. However, he rejects her offer, and in hurt acknowledgement, she makes his journey through the brambles a painful one. His once clean, new looking clothes are already torn up quite a bit- a painful sight to those who could recognize the brands and their worth. 

"Dream~! Stop running," the one with fashionable glasses- he's british, Dream notices- shouts.

Dream hisses as another jagger bush rips into his arm. 

_ It's fine _ , he pushes upon himself.  _ I'll just hide and they'll go away. They won't know where I am.  _

"Hey, George, Bad," the one with the headband pipes up seemingly in subtle shock of his hidden knowledge of their names, "there's a compass in our pockets, they point at this guy, I think."

Dream glimpses back to see their running slow a little. 

_ Good _ , Dream thinks. _ I can get further ahead. _

He runs unbothered by the thorns and bushes and brambles and ivy, pure bliss filling his heart. Only a few moments later does he realize that  _ oh god, they have compasses, they can track me, I am fucked, oh my god, I am a deadman, oh my god, oh my god _ .

His running doesn't slow, but he certainly feels that it does with his new realization. He speeds up. He heightens the risk of tripping, but he sees an oak forest in the distance. A sexy, fresh breath of air to the disgusting birch forest surrounding him. He doesn't trip to his luck. 

A good few minutes far into the forest and he doesn't hear the shouts of the hunters. Out of some instinct deeply rooted in him, he swerves his running over to a tree. An impulsive WHACK of a human hand on tree bark causes a chunk of cleanly planed oak planks to procure from where the whack occurred. 

Almost automated, he punches out a few more planks, causing the tree itself to disappear partially- hovering as though the knocked out material is simply invisible. He doesn't question it. He focuses on his gut instinct. And his gut instinct tells him to make a sort of table thing out of the 20 bundles of planks he made. So he does.

Following instructions told from some deep memory in his chest, Dream makes a crafting bench, mining tool, hatchet, spade, and short-sword- all out of his wood. By then he hears the chatter of the ragtag group of hunters a fair distance away. They didn't sound like they were running, just walking- almost leisurely despite the circumstances.

_ I can ambush them _ , Dream's gut tells him out of the blue. 

_ No _ , he initially protests, but he's got no real reason why he shouldn't. So, he hides behind a tree and wields the sharpest of his tools, the sword.

And he waits.

And he hears steps.

And he chokes up on his blade.

And for some reason, it is the most natural feeling to him. 

-

  
  


"So you don't know how you got here either.." a southern voice inquires to his trio of people.

"I don't, Sapnap," a British voice responds. A stumble in the leaves is heard- the European idiot probably tripped on a branch. 

"I don't," Bad mimics.

"Huh."

"I mean, I know some stupid stuff, like-"

A more unexpected rustling interrupts the conversation. 

Dream jumps out from behind a tree and sweetly impales Sapnap with his wooden blade in the blink of an eye.

The other two back away fearfully almost immediately. Their eyes are wide. Dream's are as well. Sapnap falls to his knees and allows his full attention to be centered on the slightly-larger-than-average splinter in his chest.

Dream, too, backs away with a sense of horror backlighting his expression. Though while Dream moves away, the sword in Sapnap's chest doesn't. Dream tugs it gently and Sapnap hisses in pain, so Dream lets it sit in Sapnap as a sort of human sheath. The warmest red starts feeding through the grain of the wood, wooden veins fulfilled with the blood of Sapnap- a contrast to its familiar blood that was actual sap. 

There is tension. A few beats of uncertainty, of 'did he actually do that?', and of a first serious exposure to the disturbing game the quartet would be playing for an undetermined amount of time.

"I..." Dream starts. He stumbles back into his awkward state of mind, unfamiliar with this type of aggression. The instinctive creature that took over him has left him in the dust with no firm explanation why he just killed a man. Dream starts to apologize. 

Sapnap spitefully mumbles something that interrupts Dream's apology. A dribble of blood spills out of his lips accompanying his words as though he'd secretly eaten a whole box of strawberry gushers. Dream grimaces at the blood initially, but looking behind Sapnap, he sees something that makes his whole heart drop a few stories. George and Bad are staring at Dream. An unfiltered rage is blooming in their expressions, and Dream sees the real danger he's in. 

Impunity is on Dream's mind as he ditches the scene and runs.

They aren't shy to be on his tail. They aren't shy in any sense of the word, now- the occurrence regarding Sapnap seemed to shun any doubts about their darker urges. Dream desperately dodges the trees that get in his way downhill, but some slow him down with his uncertain footings.

He hears them getting closer.

As Dream contemplates how he will beat two fully grown men, he hears something from behind him. 

"Go check on Sap," George calls out to Bad. And in a few seconds, half the footsteps are gone. Half the risk is gone, too. Dream thinks maybe this is okay.

Now it’s just the two of them. One, of course, 20 feet ahead. 

However, something else is 20 feet even further ahead. That something shows itself as a dip in the earth, a fox den maybe. Though, as he nears it, he sees its sharp smile stretches quite a distance longways. A ravine. As he runs right up to it, he contemplates if he can make the narrow jump across. Of course, impulsively he leaps- and he notices as he's flying in the air that  _ wow, that is deep.  _ He lands with a thump on the other side. 

He can still hear the pounding of his enemy’s feet behind him. Dream clambered to a standing position, facing the incoming George. He watches as George speeds up and kicks off the edge of the opposing side. A leap of faith. 

Dream holds his breath. He realizes too late that he could have blocked his landing, and George makes it over and smiles a little at his own achievement. Not for long, though. Poor footing graces him, and the earth is hungry- with a slip of sneakers on brittle soil, George is pulled in. 

Dream watches. 

George grabs onto the rocky edge weakly as a last ditch effort. It's hardly got textire to hang onto. 

Dream watches. 

George’s grip falters, and he sinks down to his fingertips. He’s losing his strength.

Dreams watches.

Then, George sighs a little. He gives in to the inevitable, and lets his hands go slack. He falls. 

Dream watches. 

But Dream also jolts forward and grabs George’s left wrist before he can slip away into the damned smile of the earth. George is fated with a different damned smile instead when he glances up at his enemy.

Dream has a smirk of triumph, naturally. He’s saved a man- not to mention, a man who was trying to kill him. He found the vulnerability of the other nearly laughable. George looks at him with bewilderment and opens his mouth to talk. He closes it a second later, realizing he can't put the things he wants to say into words. Dream has the high ground.

Dream would like to pull George up. Hes been hanging by his hand for more than a few seconds now. It's clear the next step is indeed to pull him up. 

But.

The same feeling earlier that drove Dream to kill Sapnap or make fools of trees was here, now. Except it was stronger. 

It told Dream to let him go.

He obviously doesn't fancy this option, so he just holds on and subdues his intrusive wishes. George must have seen this inner conflict on Dream’s face because he dons a vexed expression of his own.

“Can you pull me up..?” George asks with a blunt sense of caution. His accent skips on itself out of a gentle taste of fear. 

“I'm- I'm sorry,” Dream whispers as though it would break the news off softer. 

Georges eyes widen in realization.

“Wait, wait, Dream-” 

Dream lets go of his hand. George swiftly adds on, “ _ Clay,” _ before he disappears into the depths of rock.

Dream leans back away at his final word. He actually scurries a bit back, far from the edge of the deep slice of Earth. He feels a sweat kick in on his forehead. 

“Holy shit,” Dream says breathily, close to a whimper.

_ That's my name. How did he know my name? My actual name? _

The dulcet sound of a hard splat on the flat rock bed encourages Dream to peek over. Expecting a horrid sight, he’s met with not that, but a pile of seeds, a flower, and a stick- neatly made into a pile where George would have been found deceased. 

Somehow he knows this is part of the game's gambit, another rule in the outdoor chess game they’ve embarked on playing. He just excites over the fact that he killed one, impaled (and probably killed) another, and maybe traumatized the last.

_ A shaky deep breath and I should be okay _ , Dream decides. So he takes a shaky breath. And another. And yet another, but this time he struggles to stifle a sob. Killing is new for him, and he fails to recognize the vulnerability he sets himself up for by being remorseful. He doesn't know how cold this world is yet.

Dream recovers and staggers to his feet. He laboriously tears out a tunnel passageway in the ravine wall to travel down, down, down- just to grab whatever his little diver friend had. It’s sort of so Dream can meet some solace about remembering a stranger (?) after their death, but he doesn't know for sure. He doesn't worry about it. 

While he's down there, he takes the liberty of cleaning the ores from the cavernous walls and setting up a small, manageable base. One person can't take him on. And after all, there was only one person left! Dream killed the other two, and it's not like they can come back, right? That would be absurd! 

Right?


	2. 2

“Instinct is no match for reason.”-RC

\--

_ “What the hell, Dream. No,  _ no- _ STOP!” George’s yells were only background to Dream’s wheezes. They were playing a Minecraft manhunt challenge together. George fumbled with the mouse in his left hand desperately, clicking his finger to hit the perfect hits at the perfect times on his perfect enemy. Dream was the hunter for once, and he had George cornered. After a crit from George's end, Dream let out the lightest gasp. Then he sprinted away. George smiled devilishly.  _

_ “OH DREAAAAAAM!”  _

_ Dream stumbled behind a tree and, baiting George to follow him, he spun around and swiped a hit on George. A final blow.  _

_ A “YES!” and a “NO!” were heard simultaneously.  _

“ _ UGH! This is so  _ unfair… _ ” George whined, hiding his face in his hands.  _

_ “Oh  _ come on _ , that-that was a good round. How long did that one go? Like, what- I've been recording for  _ 20 minutes _! That's better than last time! Let's just start up again-” _

_ “I don't  _ want _ to start up again, Dream…” George interrupted with a groan. “You keep  _ beating _ me...”  _

_ Dream laughed.  _

_ “Okay, fine, what do you want to do then? Because I have to get a new video out this weekend, I haven't posted in like a month.”  _

_ George laughed.  _

_ “Well… I don't know. Why can't I hunt you again…?” _

_ “Because I always win,” Dream retorted. George groan-laughed, and if they were in person, he would have loved to shove him right then.  _

_ “Can I have, like… a handicap, or something..?” _

_ Dream guffawed, “a  _ HANDICAP _?”, and George giggled and kept talking.  _

_ “No no, no, wait, no, listen- listen! What if I…” _

_ “...yeah? What if you what?” _

_ “...What if I had more people on my side?” _

  
  


_ \---- _

  
  


Rebirth. 

Often doused with angelicism, lights, clouds and the sort, George would have high standards for such a concept.

  
  


“George, watch out, there’s animal poo next to you,” Bad reminds.

  
  


“AUGH!” George’s eyes snap open and he launches forward, sitting up from his lying down position. His glasses fall off his face and into the Buffalo grass next to him. George goes to grab them and notices he's sat in the same spot he woke up in earlier that day. Standing near him are two people- for some reason, he knows they're named Sapnap and Badboyhalo- looking down at their shoes and such. George watches them curiously, wondering why they look so distraught. Then the memories hit him. 

“WAIT!” George proclaims loudly, to which the other two only slightly turn their heads to. “Did I-I…” And seemingly dancing around the word, George looks up at them, tragically lost. They look back. 

“Die?” Sapnap says, maybe with a bite of spice that was unnecessary. 

“YEAH!” George says with a concerning level of excitement. This isn't at the acknowledgment of his death, but more so that his train of thought isn't seen as entirely insane. Sapnap and Bad look at eachother and look away again. 

“Yeah, you died.” Sapnap seems quieter now. Bad doesn't make eye contact with either of them. George frowns at this. 

“What's wrong?” George asks. Before Sapnap can open his mouth (it didn't look like he was going to, anyway) Bad butts in.

“Sapnap died too, and…”

“Oh, oh- yeah! I remember that-!” George interrupts.

“It was just a lot,” Sapnap sputters, also interrupting. “I- um. It was weird. It felt weird, and… I dunno.”

George looks at Bad for any more information but he had nothing to give. George purses his lips and pushes himself up off the ground.

Standing up feels like an operose task with how his muscles ached. George was about to remark on the pain, when Sapnap asks almost too casually, “How did you die?”

George blinks.  _ How does someone respond to that? _

“I…” 

“Don't ask that, Sapnap.” Bad scolds their friend.

“No no no, you're okay! I, um. How  _ did  _ I die?” And almost on command, he remembers. George remembers the feeling of falling. “Oh! Oh. I think I fell.”

“You fell?”

“Into like…” George thinks harder. He catches a glimpse of a ravine. He opens his mouth to answer, but he sees something else in his memory. A flash of green. “...green.” He answers slowly.

“...you fell into green..?” Sapnap deadpans.

George sees it better. A green hoodie. And blondish brown tousled hair. 

“The blonde guy, in the green hoodie, who-” 

_ Clay,  _ George's thoughts spark.

“Clay-! His name is Clay, or, or-”

He looks at the two. They look back, perplexed. But listening. Certainly listening.

_ Dream. _

“Or, or- Dream! Who is he? Why are we…”

“Dream,” Bad breathes. “Dream, he-” and almost as if something gets caught in his throat, he shuts up. He looks disappointed. “I don't know who he is, but I hate him.” Bad is back to staring at his shoes. Sapnap reads the room and does the same. George feels a fleck of realization from this. He hates Dream a little, too. 

Thinking about Dream, his memories flash to the ravine. Where he held his wrist and saved him. Where he looked at him with sad green eyes and, with the softest voice, muttered an apology. Where he sent George to his death. A remorseful reaper with very green eyes. 

He felt a flicker of understanding. A flicker of familiarit-

“We have to kill him,” Sapnap grumbles. George looks up at this. He knows this too, somehow. It's engrained in him. Despite this however, he asks,

“Why?”

Bad and Sapnap pause for a moment in their various cases of fiddling. The three blue screen in a sort of way. Then Bad speaks up. 

“I don't know. But we have to.” There is a grave seriousness in his voice that makes Sapnap bow his head low. Maybe out of respect, maybe out of understanding.

George laughs.

“Okay, sorry- what  _ do you  _ guys know, then? Because you don't seem very sure about anything. And- and this is someone's life in our hands.” 

Bad sternly looks away. He is holding some choice words in. Sapnap opts in. 

“We don't know  _ anything _ , George. All we know is that we need to kill this Dream guy by any means.”

“What's your motivation, though?”

“Who's side are you on,” snaps Bad. 

Sapnap cuts in again, “you were chasing him too. You're with us. Think about it. Did you ever stop to think if attacking that guy was wrong? Don't answer that, because you proceeded to try and kill him anyway. You're not higher than us because you're breaking our reasoning down like a dumb English essay. We're all lost here with stupid memory and stupid goals. We're not better than each other, we're all in a stupid situation with stupid feelings and stupid jobs, so just… get your head out of your ass.  _ Please _ .”

Bad looks at George only affirming Sapnap’s point. George still thinks they're crazy.

“You're crazy,” George vocalized. “I don't care if this is some weird… forest, where we have to kill a guy, I know outside of this I couldn't kill a man. I'm sorry, but look for someone else to help you-”

Sapnap barks a laugh. 

“Like you know anything outside this life.”

George squints. 

“Excuse me?”

Sapnap laughs again and looks to Bad, maybe expecting him to laugh with him. He doesn't. Sapnap looks back to the British fool.

“George, do me a favor, yea- try to remember anything before this. We already addressed that we didn't know how we got here, right? That was when we were chasing Dream. Tell me right now,  _ one _ thing you remember from your life.”

Bad looks like he wants to stop Sapnap, but something prevents him when he looks to George for his response. Maybe it's hope. Maybe it's Maybeline. Whatever it is, it doesn't help George talk. 

“Come on,” pesters Sapnap, earning a shushing from Bad, “tell us!”

George is a deer in headlights. His mouth drops open ready to answer, but the words refuse to come to him. He promptly shuts his mouth and looks down. This earns a pompous chortle from Sapnap.

“That's what I thought,” he scoffs. A moment of silence. Then, “let's go get things to survive the night, the sunset is about to happen. George, go find food. Bad and I will get tools and stuff.”

And with that, they disappear and George is left standing alone. 


	3. 3

“If an injury has to be done to a man it should be so severe that his vengeance need not be feared.” -NM

\---

The air is cold. There is no doubt in that statement. Nighttime had fallen over the forest in accordance to the time George allotted to hunting. The chalky grey clouds in the sky sinuously caked the navy blanket of nocturn essence and coaxed monsters to come out. The current season- early autumn, George guesses- is hasty to dish out harsh It cracks and chafes at George, daring to open skin from the very frigidity of the air. More now than ever does George wish he had something other than a T-shirt on. He half expects rain to fall from the sky with his misfortune. 

He sits on a mossy log now. In his lap is a leather wrapped package of meats, ready to cook and eat. George is ready for the comfort of people around him- people who don't have him on a death list. It is dark outside and he is alone. This is to become normalcy. 

“Where are they,” George. “Where are they…”

It was cold. And yet, George feels a trickle of nervous heat spinning up in his chest. 

_ Where are they? _

_ Could they have forgotten about me? _

_ Or did they decide I’m not important enough for the plan? _

George hears a crackle behind a mass of bushes. George’s eyes flick over instinctively. 

_ It was probably a rabbit,  _ George thinks offhandedly _. That is what the noise was. An innocent little animal. _

It isn’t. 

George finds out it isn't as he watches an arrow shoot out from the bush and pierce the skin of his shoulder. He gasps mostly in shock, but an element of pain is certainly spun into it. A quick uttering of  _ fuck _ under his breath and a fearful dash to the cover of a tree’s bulk provides him with more sanctuary, psychologically and physically. He sits down with his back against the tree, trying to make himself as small as possible. He really wished he had a weapon right about then.

“It's just a skeleton, it's just a skeleton,” George mutters and shuts his eyes for a moment. “I saw the white head, it was just a skeleton.”

George courageously peeks out from behind the tree, expecting to see the skeleton chasing after him. He doesn't see anything in the bushes- no skeletons, no bunnies, no anything. His breathing speeds up a little and he exposes himself from the tree a little more to see better. The moonlight adds a soft glow to his face. 

“Where…”

The darkness of the area doesn't help at all and George is left to squint desperately through the night air. He is completely, entirely vulnerable. 

Then. 

A familiar voice from right behind him.

“Hey George.” 

George turns around. 

Familiar isn't always good, though. He lets out an embarrassingly loud yelp, and tries to run. Dream has other plans- he shoves him into the tree he just found haven in. He cuts their distance to a foot and Dream is clear he doesn't want to waste time. George's breath hitches as he feels cold, sharp metal press up against his stomach. George searches for Dream’s eyes so he can plead for remorse, but it takes him a second to realize his face is hidden behind a circular plate of birch bark, with a little smile drawn on it with charcoal. A mask. George’s eyes shut and he clenches his jaw in a grimace. 

“You have the answer to a question I have,” Dream starts with that gravely tone of his. George’s lips break apart and he tries to form a coherent sentence.

“I-I’m not telling you anything,” George sputters, but realizing he wasn't mean enough, tags “you creep” to the end. Dream chuckles a moment at it. George feels his laugh buzz the air. In a sick way, George is comforted by this. 

“Yeah, okay-” Dream starts in a light hearted tone. He drives the sword into George’s skin a little- not enough to hurt him yet, just scare him. “You'll tell me,” he tells him, and his most threatening voice comes out, an octave deeper. Dream hopes it works. George gasps lightly and bites his own tongue, flattening himself against the tree behind him to further himself from the blade. 

It does work. George opens his eyes too, staring down this chunk of wood in front of him. Dream clicks his tongue in a twisted sort of satisfaction.  _ How can he see through that?  _ Wondered George.

“Okay, okay, what do you need to know, what is it,” George's words basically fall out of his mouth. So much for being a terrifying hunter. 

Dream’s tone turns the most serious George has heard yet. 

“You called me Clay. How do you know my name.”

George squints.

“W-what-”

“ _ Tell me.” _

“I don't know!” George sputtered, “I don't know! Seriously!! I just… knew? I don't know, please-”

“Are you being honest?” Dream inquired. 

“YES!” George's voice peaked its pitch. “I'm being serious, please-”

“That's all I need to know,” Dream interrupts with a hint of remorse in his tone. He looks off into the abysmal darkness of woods, then back at George. George waits for Dream to say the final things he wanted to say before letting him go. 

“Give me whatever you have.”

“I have nothing useful.”   
Dream scoffs.

“I wasn’t giving you a choice,” Dream asks again, this time giving the sword a little shove. It pricks George’s skin. George holds in a gasp.    
“Here! here,” George submits and pushes the wrapped meats into Dream’s chest. Dream takes the food in his free hand and looks at it.

“How much?” 

“Why are you asking so many questions-”   
“Why are you being so difficult?” he snaps back, then persists, “How much?”   
George groans out of annoyance and looks away. 

But he thinks for a moment. 

“I… I think I got…” He stalls. Dream listens intently. George looks over at the raw food, then back at the pale wooden mask. 

“...just enough for me, I suppose.” 

Then, he decks Dream in the throat. He yanks the meat from his tanned hands and runs. Dream reaches out his sword and catches it on George’s calf- injuring it substantially. He gasps and hobble-runs away. Dream sits on his knees for a moment, clutching his throat, coughing. “Oh, you little…” His words are cut off by another coughing fit as George makes his way far off.

-

George was struggling to run. He doesn't have anything to patch his wound, and while his own warm blood feels nice on his cold fingers, he knows his situation is awry. At this point, he just wants to get away and hide the food so when he dies, Dream wouldn’t find it and take it. No, he put too much work into the food- he wasn’t going to give it up for a little intimidation from a green man. 

His running slows.  _ Good, _ thinks George, even though he recognizes his own faltering stamina means nothing good. He’s in what looks like a savannah. The wild plants collogue amongst themselves various bets of who may win this hunt. George’s instinct takes him through some high grasses, and just over the tops of the plants can he see a village- he could hide in it. He makes his way there, and he watches more and more monsters spawn around him redying up for nighttime. George limps into the village square with a little rushed feeling, and only then does he notice the lacking light supplied here. He sees windows shattered and buildings deteriorated. He sees life, but it's only wildlife- the tailend of a rabbit crawling beneath a rotting log, vivacious ivy eating a majority of the old homes. George wonders what happened here and where everyone is. 

George miserably skulks around the corner of a certain cluster of houses and bursts through the brittle door holding the darkness in the home like a jar of jam. The floorboards sigh under George and he sluggishly closes the door shut. The cobwebs above in the rafters wisp down, threatening to catch in George’s umbered hair. He swats at his head as if his appearance was a vital aspect of being hunted. The webs don’t care if they hinder a man’s appearance, they simply yearn to break from their hold on the wall and grace the wind. Of course, who wouldn’t yearn now and then?

George flops to the ground and dust billows up and cakes his bloodied pant leg. George actually gets a good look at his injury now and it isn’t pretty. The importunate injury aches and drives George insane. He leans back against the terracotta wall with an exhale. One hand grips the food and the other the rotting floor. He looks up at the sky through the caved in roof with a broken consciousness. The blood loss gets to him at that point and the delirium kicks in full force. 

-

“I should’ve just killed him and taken it, who knows how far he is now…” Dream wanders in the direction George fled to. He kicks a pebble in the ground and kicks it again when he gets close to it.    
“I should've stabbed him earlier, I was giving him too much time.” 

  
A skeleton shoots an arrow Dream’s way and he swiftly ducks. He runs after that. He isn’t terribly fearful of the monsters now. They could put a wear and tear on him it looked like, but there were serious monsters out there that he was worried about. Three strong, and strong they were. He duped them out initially, but he saw the determination in their eyes, and he recognized the unjustified bloodlust their heart yearned for. He saw straight through them, and yet, he still couldn’t help but hesitate.    
Dream meets the edge of a savannah clearing and begins wandering through. The stars are a gorgeous spectacle above, but he keeps his head bowed. He keeps his mask on, and he keeps his movements subtle. Less monsters will notice. The crackle of dead grass ‘tsk’s at Dream in disappointment. 

“If _only_ I just-”   
The earth Dream walks is suddenly wet and puddle like. He looks down. If it weren’t for the bright moon, he would’ve assumed it were just a puddle from rain or a creek. However, when Dream sees the light reflect in just the perfect way, he sees flush tones of red, and he has a revelation. He looks up and sees a village nearby. As far as he can see, little twinkling puddles and droplets of blood lead to it.

-

George is fading in and out. It doesn't matter though, he decides, because he’ll just respawn anyway. He mills over this idea as he feels around the floorboards under him. He feels and feels and feels, and then, he yanks on one particular board. It snaps upwards with the resistance of packing styrofoam. There are probably termites in it. Beneath is a shallow area only a few inches high. George decides this is the perfect spot for the food, and he shoves it in. Then, he replaces the board and shimmies over top of it. The floor is slippery now. George is fascinated by the amount of blood someone can have. He is so fascinated, he doesn’t hear the walking outside. 

But then,

“Geeooooorgeee…” A smooth drawl swirls into the air around the outside of the abandoned cottage.

Dream. 

George clenches his jaw in acknowledgement to this poison in the air, and most certainly in acknowledgement to its source. Dream paces outside, a hyena like giggle bubbling up in his chest. “Geooorge, come out to play…”    
  


George bites his tongue. It is a good distraction from the pain in his leg. 

“Geoooorge.. _I want my food back_ ,” Dream taunts. George grovels and his possessiveness impacts him an inordinate amount. 

  
“Go away, Dream!” George bellows, though he chokes on his own tongue at the end considering the danger he’s just put himself in. He chips away at the floorboards anxiously as he contemplates whether him giving away his location screwed him over as much as he now worries. 

He doesn’t have to worry anymore, since Dream kicks down the rotten door. The door nearly falls on George’s bad leg and he jerks it out of the way. Dream smiles- not in a warm way, not in a considerate way, but more of a pachydermatous way. He walks in, crossing the fallen door with a saunter George wants to kick him for. He immediately unsheathes his sword. George’s eyes squint shut.

“Leave me alone!” George barks, to which Dream just chuckles. “STOP IT!”

“Stop what, George?” Dream asks innocently. “I just want my food!” 

“Stop it,” George sneers, “just go away. And quit saying my name.” And then, with a prevalent voice crack, he adds, “please.”

Dream chuckles again. George is stuck alone with Dream and his incessant schadenfreude once again, and what could he do? Try and escape? It seemed that he was better off taking the respawn on this one. The food was safe. 

“Where’s the food George. Come on.”

George opens his eyes. 

Somehow, they’re in a nicely decorated living room. George is not injured, and Dream isn’t wielding a sword. 

“I ate it all,” George answers, hardly aware of the conversation they’re holding. Dream chuckles warmly. George feels his heart flare up. Surely out of suspicion.

“No,” he responds with a tinge of disbelief. It smells like pine. He looks over in the corner and there is a decorated tree with lights on it. There is a TV on the wall too, playing netflix.   
“Yes.”

“You didn’t. That was like- twenty pounds of lo mein. You didn’t.” 

“I did!” He insists, throwing a pillow at Dream. Dream smiles. George’s heart aches and they both laugh. He shut his eyes laughing.

He opens his eyes and he is still laughing. He is back in the dilapidated cottage with Dream.

-

Dream doesn’t know why George has started laughing. He assumes it is the blood loss. 

-

While he is in a particularly harsh laughing fit, writhing in the dust, George blinks and he is back at the spawn location. His hands are empty, he isn’t bloody, and his sanity is coming back to him. He knows what happened. He knows what Dream did. He would be thankful if he hadn’t been the person to cause the whole ordeal in the first place. 

“GEORGE!”    
“GOGY!!”

George doesn’t get to stand up before two fully grown men dogpile on top of him. 

“Oeuf-”   
“YOU’RE BACK!”

George grimaces under the weight of two.

“Yep,” he chokes out, “I’m back.”

“Do you have food?” Bad asks. 

George looks down at the grass. 

“Um. Not- not exactly.”   
They help each other up and lead George to a temporary little base they’ve set up. And on their walk there, George tells the harrowing experience he had with their enemy. They in turn explain what they were doing and why they weren’t there sooner, elaborating on the fact that they made a base and they also got food as well. They joke about George wasting his time. They all laugh.

George, however, knows that he did something entirely more substantial than whatever they did. 

He learned about the enemy. 

And he learned that the enemy is a softie.


End file.
